


Witchtale

by Swangooseduck



Category: Undertale
Genre: Sybil - Freeform, Witch - Freeform, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-06-23 18:25:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15612279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swangooseduck/pseuds/Swangooseduck
Summary: When Monsters returned to the surface, humans were in shock--none more so than the witches of the world. However, while the bulk of society acclimated to their presence, and tentatively welcomed them, the practitioners of magic grew secretive and mistrusting. For Sybil and her gran, they were the villains of their fairy tales--the dreadful monsters that the good witches had sealed below, beings to fear and mistrust. And with the destruction of metaphysical shops, and the abductions of fellow witches in their community since the return of monsters, Sybil feels a particular fear of them. This stance is put to the test when Sybil is forced to work with one of these strange and powerful monsters to rescue her Gran, and learn the truth of what's happening to her friends. But how can she trust that skeleton grin?





	1. The Fool

This had been a mistake--perhaps one of her biggest yet. Sybil had to concede that to herself as she shoved her belongings into her suitcase. She’d been headstrong--stupid. Now she couldn’t get her things together fast enough. Despite her rational side chiding her, telling her she was drawing attention to herself with this haste, her fear drove her to reckless packing.  
“Sybil, what the hell?” Her roommate poked her head out of the bathroom. “You’re making enough noise to wake the d--” Her dark eyes narrowed at the boxes being packed, along with the overstuffed suitcase.  
“I can explain.” Sybil lied.   
“Yeah, please do,” Her roommate scowled.  
“My Gran--”  
“Does it have something to do with these?” The older girl pointed toward the coffee table with her toothbrush. Sybil’s eyes fell to the three card spread, each of the cards staring up at her with urgency. The last of them glared up at her menacingly--a rarity for this deck--but then, Sybil suspect that no witch liked this card much.  
“I--”  
Her roommate crossed over to the table, her sock covered feet making almost no noise as she knelt to study them with an undisguisable curiosity. “My mom always said these were dangerous.”  
“They’re not,” Sybil answered automatically. “They’re just tools--no different than a car, a knife, or a pencil.”  
“Hmmmm,” The sophomore picked up the first one idley. “What’s this mean?”  
Sybil had to bite back her frustrations. Bad enough she was trying to get out of dodge, but to have her cards touched? That was a personal pet peeve of hers.  
“That’s the Hermit,” She forced herself to explain calmly. “He represents a lone and internal path.”  
“So you’re a loner.” Her roommate grinned. “I could’ve told you that.”  
“Cici,” Sybil sighed. “That’s not what he represents in this spread--look,” She left her packing to sit with her roomate and explain, taking her Hermit card back. “Each of these has an important meaning depending on how they’re drawn--what we call a spread. I used a three card spread--one question per card,” She placed him down onto the table in his original place. “This one was for my past situation--Hermit Reversed.”  
“Loner.” Cici repeated, grinning catlike at the freshman. “And very much a hermit.”  
Sybil didn’t bother to correct her, moving to tap the next card. “This card is my present--what’ll happen within the next few months or so.” Her fingers trembled as she stared down again at the dreaded card. “The Tower.”  
“Ominous looking.” Cici mused.  
“It’s not good news.” Sybil admitted.  
“Hmmm….Bad luck in math then,” Her roommate’s cat-like smile returned. “And then the third one’s the distant future?” She guessed.  
“Yeah…” Syibl looked to it, frowning. “The World….” She still didn’t understand that one--at least, not what it was trying to tell her in regards to the rest of the spread. Then again, she’d been half panicked at seeing the Tower so close to her, that she hadn’t given it a lot of thought.  
“It’s pretty,” Cici commented, picking it up, despite her roommate’s glare. “Bit too rosy though, if you ask me.” She set it down, and looked her roommate. “So why are you leaving, Sybil? Things were just starting to get fun around here--a bagel shop on campus, Sorority week coming up--And don’t you think for a moment that I wasn’t going to put your name up for membership.” Cici winked. “You need a little fun in your life.”  
“Thanks….” Sybil forced a weak smile. “But I got a text from my Gran...She’s not feeling well and--”  
“And she needs her dearly beloved granddaughter to come to her aid.” Cici rolled her eyes. “God. You really need to learn to cut the apron strings.”  
Sybil stared pointedly at her cards as she carefully gathered them up into a neat stack. “She’s all I have, Cici.”  
“And she’s what--in her eighties?” Cici raised her eyebrows. “You’re not going to have her forever, Sybil. If you don’t take the friendships out here, you’re going to end up like your hermit card.” She warned.  
Sybil struggled against herself. Part of her wanted to snap at the older girl, pointing out that for all her sisterly advice, Cici really didn’t know her. Nobody really did. And at this point, she was glad of that.  
“Look, I’m sorry I have to do this so suddenly, but I can’t just leave her…”  
“No,” Her roommate heaved a sigh. “I guess not.” She looked at her toothbrush thoughtfully. “Tell you what, let me finish my teeth, and I’ll help you pack up, okay?”  
Sybil felt her shoulders relax a little. “Thank you.”  
“Least I can do,” The sophomore smiled, returning to the bathroom. “You promise to come back as soon as she’s better though, okay?”  
“Right.” Sybil nodded, her fingers crossing behind her back. “I’ll be back.”


	2. The Fool Reveresed

  
  
  


“Ah, professor!” Sans cracked his eye open to see the bright smile of the Dean Hardin. Despite the dean’s age he had a sparkling smile that charmed most people into instant relaxation. Shame those teeth were fakes, and his charm was as reliable as Sans’s cleaning abilities. 

Still, the skeleton placed his feet back on the floor, and returned the expression with his own lazy rendition of it. To anyone who knew him, they would know it was completely disingenuous, but Dean wasn’t able to read anything off of him without the more human clues the schoolmaster was used to reading. Instead, the man chose to smalltalk around it.

“Settling in alright?” 

“Yeah,” Sans drawled. “This office is outta this world.”

He hid a snicker at Hardin’s grimace. That was all part of the fun of puns. While he loved to get a good laugh from them, the over the top screams of Papyrus, or the groans and grimaces pleased him just as much.

“Glad you like it,” Hardin pushed past the joke. “We’re truly lucky to have you teaching with us here. And to think we can put Ebott University on the map. What with your skills, expertise, and your brilliant mind--” 

“Sorry to break it to you dean,” Sans shrugged casually. “But I’m just a bonehead.”

“Ah, yes,” He forced a chuckle.That shut up the overflowing accolades the Dean had clearly rehearsed. “I ah...I suppose I shouldn’t be bothering you, but I wanted to see how you were settling in, and offer you my sincerest welcome.”

Sans kept his smile well frozen. “That’s nice of you, Dean.You sure know how to make a body feel at home.”

“Yes….” Another grimace. “Ah! And I wanted to talk to you about your speech.”

Sans could feel his smile widen, despite himself. Toriel was going to get a kick out of this--and hopefully some of the students would too. Afterall, it wasn’t everyday he was given a free stage with a mandatory audience. 

“Almost done with it,” Sans reported cheerfully. “If I put my backbone into it, I can have it done by tonight.”

“That’s great.” Hardin’s flinch only egged the skeleton on.

“I hope you don’t mind it being a bit short, but I didn’t want to take a skeleton of everyone’s time,” He leaned back in his chair. “I mean, that would just leave everyone bone tired if I dragged it out.”

“Uh...of course….”

“And Tibia honest, I can't say thank you enough for the opportunity--this job’s a bonafide honor.”

Dean Hardin nodded, smile fading as he back toward the door. “That’s...ah, that’s nice of you to say, Professor…I’d best get back to the office--conference in ten! Just thought I’d stop in and say hello!”

“Bonejour to you too,” Sans waved.

“Right….” Hardin turned, reaching for the door, “I’ll leave you to it then,”

“Yeah. Don’t want to sit here and be bone idle.” 

Sans watched with barely disguised glee as Hardin hurried out the room, dropping all pretense as he fled. Humans like Hardin reminded Sans why the underground had been so wound up against them as a whole. Still, if Hardin was the worst of humanity, then they’d fair just fine.

Sans debated on returning to his nap--a tempting idea. But no. Pap was trying his hardest in his training with Undyne. It would be sometime before monsters would be allowed into a police force--but knowing those two, they would do it. In the meantime, he needed to support his brother’s new dream. Which meant work. 

Sans heaved a lazy sigh, and flipped on the local station while he went to work on his speech--that would be the fun part of his job. Hopefully his students would be easy enough to work with. Who knew. Toriel seemed to think he could manage a classroom, so maybe he could.

As the skeleton worked through his list of puns, tapping out the timing of each delivery with a boney fordigit, something on the tv screen caught his attention. He glanced over to see the local reporter, a serious woman in a bright pant suit, standing in front of a wrecked store front. It appeared to be a part of a strip mall, with it being the second to the left out of five stores. The other stores were relatively untouched--but this one...it looked gutted.

“ _ Thank you, Charles. Locals are baffled by the incident, which according to one eyewitness, looked like a bomb inside the Witches Brew cafe. This local cafe is a favorite among the wiccan and vegan communities, as well as locals. Police are saying that there is no evidence of a bomb, or of foul play, however the cafe’s owner, Bella Meyers, has yet to be found. We’ll keep you updated as things develop.’ _

Sans squinted, an unsettling feeling setting over his soul. He reached over to his computer, tapping in the phrases he wasn’t sure about. Vegan he knew. He’d been given several fliers by some of the students on campus vying for more vegan friendly options in the cafeteria. Wiccan....That he didn’t know.

What came up only solidified that feeling in his soul. Witches. Mages. Human magic. He leaned back in his chair. He should have known there would be some traces of magic left among humans. Despite how little they held person to person, when linked together, and powered by their souls, they could do incredible things--such as the barrier. So if this woman was one of these witches…

Sans searched the cafe, coming up on it’s website. Sadly no hotdogs or spaghetti, but the range of plant foods would’ve made the protesting students giddy. A little digging more and he found the brief mission statement page. It was simple, laced with language of a down to earth type, with a small flair for the magical blessings of the cafe’s hard workers and loyal patrons. So likely a witch. Not powerful per say, but a witch.

If a single child’s soul was powerful enough to destroy the barrier, what could a witch’s soul do? Of course, Sans was a bit ahead of himself...He had no proof that this Bella Meyers was even dead, much less that someone had extracted her soul. Still, he couldn’t quite shake the heavy feeling on his own soul.

He made a few more inquiries on his computer before shutting it off and moving to lock the door. No point in walking home. Right now all he wanted was to catch some Grillby’s, and then...Then he needed to talk to Toriel about this.

“No need to go soul searching just yet.”


	3. The Magician

  
  
  
“Gran?” Sybil called, trying not to trip over the welcome mat. “You home?”  
“In the kitchen!” A bell like voice called.  
Sybil sighed, heaving in several suitcases. She’d loaded herself down as much as she’d dared, with a bag over one shoulder, her backpack pulling at her back, and several cases in her hands. She still had a laundry basket of knick nacks in her trunk, and a plastic drawer set filled with books and clothes. A whole dorm room’s worth of life stuffed into a single car. Gods only knew how she’d managed it.  
“I’ll put on a kettle for tea if you….” Her Gran’s voice trailed as she spotted the cumbersome load. Gran looked nothing if not spry for her years. Most would put her in her sixties—a guess the woman would never dignify with an answer. Sybil had once heard from her grandfather that she was in her seventies, giving her a wink. ‘That’s where you got your baby face, Sibs,’ He’d laugh. If her soft features hadn’t kept her seeming youthful, her bright eyes alone would have done the trick. Big blue eyes that always seemed to match the weather and a knowing glint, all barely hidden by large spectacles.   
She was dressed in her usual no nonsense jeans and a beaded t-shirt—blue today—with a brown apron. The apron would have looked odd to most. It had been a handmade one, with multiple bits of embroidery along the front and the pockets in multiple colors. Each on was a sigil for kitchen work; no burns, no stray cuts from a knife, good memory for recipes, and so on. Sybil knew each one’s shape and meaning by heart. She’d traced them many times growing up, silently taking in her mother’s handiwork. It was one of the last things she’d made.  
“Moving back so soon?” Gran’s voice pulled her back to the present.   
“The new professor started,” Sybil grunted. “Figured it’d be best not to chance it.” She didn’t want to go into her cards--not yet. As good of witch as her gran was, Clara Wells’ talents lay far out of divination. Cooking, sigils, gardening, with a solid dash of elemental, and death magic to boast to, divination seemed a small area of concern.  
Her grandmother nodded her approval. “Good. You cleansed the area of your energy?”  
“Yes,” Sybil gave her a wan smile. “And I’m exhausted. You said tea?”  
The older woman nodded again. “Do you need help with your things?”  
“I’ve got it,” She waved her off. “But that tea sounds good.”  
“I’ll get you a cup ready then,”   
Sybil grunted her thanks and began her trek to her old room. It was a tidy space at the moment. A twin bed resting low to the ground opposite the door. To her left was the half-empty closet, filled with all her summer clothes she’d left, along with the other seasonal and non-essentials. A dresser took up the right side wall, along with a bookshelf on either side. Sybil sighed, propping one suitcase on the bed, while moving to stash he backpack and shoulder bag on the desk next to the door. She’d have to set up her things tonight before moonrise—or at least her main tools.   
She unzipped her suitcase, working quickly to pull out her carefully packed altar supplies. Her altar had never been what she’d have called fancy—mostly bits and bobs of this and that collected over the years, but each item was still an important piece of her craft. She carefully spread out an simple strip of patchwork cloth over a corner of her dresser. The fabrics consisted of bits of her baby blanket, her first piece of embroidery, a scrap of her mother’s satin wedding dress, a bit of lace from her grandmother’s, and a lucky bit of the calico print dress her great grandmother had worn on her wedding. There were other bits of fabric intermingled to give it a larger shape, but these were the central pieces that never failed to bring a smile to Sybil’s lips.  
She didn’t linger over it long however, moving on to her other tools. A miniature broom she’d gotten on her tenth birthday, a bit of willow wand she’d gotten for Christmas one year from her grandfather, a pendulum board she’d made with her grandfather when she was thirteen, a ceramic plate she’d picked up at a flea market last year, a tea cup, and more than a few feathers and crystals. The last thing she placed was a small lumpy clay figurine of a Grecian woman, sitting at only three inches tall. Sybil grimaced at the chipped paint job.  
“I’ll have to redo that soon,” She muttered, placing it carefully among the other objects. Once satisfied with her work, she pulled out a small black birthday candle, lit it, and sat motionless on the floor.   
“I dedicate this space to the Goddess of Witchcraft, the Sorceress of the night, Queen of the Crossroads and Deity of the moon,” She murmured softly. “Welcome home.”  
She relaxed on the floor, watching as the small black candle burned itself out. She preferred the little birthday candles to the larger chime ones the metaphysical stores loved to sell—these didn’t burn as long and made shorter spells quicker, and simple dedications like this far less time consuming. Now all she’d have to do was scrape the wax off the ceramic plate after it had sufficiently cooled and she had a clean altar.  
Another ten minutes later and she was hauling the rest of her things into her old room, stuffing them unceremoniously into the closet. She’d unpack everything later. For now, she’d done the most important parts—getting everything inside and setting up her altar.   
“Sybella?” Her gran called. “Your tea’s going to go cold!”  
“Coming,” Sybil bit back a groan, trudging to join her gran.   
She found a cup of Chamomile mint tea, still piping hot. It warmed her hands as she picked it up and took a long sip. The honey was thick in this cup—thicker than she usually liked it, but she didn’t object. She needed all the energy it could give her.   
“Here you are,” Her grandmother returned with a packet of oreos. “Not exactly glamorous tea time fixings,” She chuckled. “But sweet enough.”  
“Thank you,” Sybil snatched up several, realizing how hungry she actually was. “I’ll be doing some warding tonight—don’t want anyone picking up my trail.”  
“I’ve been strengthening them ever since they announced it.” The old woman shook her head. “Monsters…I never thought I’d live to see the day…”  
“I didn’t think I would either,” Sybil agreed, swallowing a half and oreo. “You always made them seem…so unreal, you know? Like a witch’s version of a fairytale.”  
“They used to be just that…” Gran turned her worried expression to her granddaughter. “Sybella…you realize that doing magic outside of the house will be dangerous now, yes?”  
“Yeah…” She nodded.  
“Including the more mundane things. This means you and I will have to watch for one another. No study spells leave the house—no good luck pennies, not a single blessed object we can’t claim we got elsewhere—nothing.”  
Sybil wanted to scream. How much more confining could it get? Still, she washed out the last of the oreo with a swig of tea. “Yeah.” She nodded again. “I understand.” Her gaze wandered to the open door of her room down the hall. She could just see the clay figurine standing on her altar. From this angle, she could have sworn a blotchy painted brown eye twinkle at her.  
“No more magic….”  
  



	4. The Magician Reversed

“That is troubling.” Toriel mused over her cup of tea. Despite the worry creasing her brow, Sans was still struck by how well the former queen had acclimated well to her new life. Cards done in childish scribbles clung to her fridge by multiple magnets, while a large bouquet adorned her island counter. The card sticking out of the arrangement bore the thanks of the parents of her class, a dozen signatures crammed onto one small 3 and half by 2 inch card. The living room, just a few steps away was decorated with several awards from her teacher’s association, her school, and several other associations Sans didn’t recognize.

“Not just me then, huh?” The skeleton sighed. “I was kind of hoping you’d tell me I was being a downer.”

“No…” She studied him from behind her glasses. “I’m afraid you have every reason to be concerned. In fact, I think we all should be worried about this.”

“I was afraid of that…”

“Still…” Toriel frowned. “I’m not sure these attacks mean soul stealing monsters.”

“No…” Sans agreed. “Timing’s good for stirring up trouble between monsters and humans.”

“Troubling.” The goat monster repeated. “There are plenty on both sides who could benefit from it. But the magic angle…” She set her tea aside. “I’m afraid that could lead to serious trouble.”

“No bones about it,” Sans quipped smoothly. “I’ll be working with Alphys to see about a counter to anything being put together, but that’s a lot of guesswork without any solid information. Tried to get in contact with a local Wiccan group though, and the minute they heard I was a monster, they hung up.”

“I might have some luck with the other teachers,” Toriel suggested.

“And you might get pinned as a scapegoat, Tori.” He cautioned.

“I suppose you’re right…But we can’t leave things as is.”

“Give it a few days,” Sans suggested. “If the lady turns up okay, then we can chalk it up to two worrywart teachers.”

Toriel smiled at his play on words. “You sure it’s not just because you’re feeling like a lazy-bones?”

His grin widened. “No bones about that.” He sobered. “But I don’t want to start anything that doesn’t need starting. Especially with Undyne and Papyrus trying to become Police officers.”

“True.” Toriel studied her half-drained cup. “And I also have Frisk to consider…”

“How is the kiddo?”

She smiled, and expression that warmed her kind eyes. “They’re doing so well! With the monster inclusion initiative, the younger monsters are being sent in, and thanks to Frisk, being well accepted.”

“Little ambassador.” Sans chuckled. “Takes after you.”

“Frisk is entirely their own being.” Toriel’s smile turned wistful. “I wish I had an ounce of their determination. Maybe then I’d be able to do more…”

“More?” Sans blinked. “Torry, you’ve been awarded so much, you’re running out of walls to hang them.”

She folded her large paws neatly into her lap. “That’s true…” She admitted. “But there are still hurdles to peace and acceptance, Sans. Gaps I honestly don’t know how we’re going to fill.”

The skeleton looked to his own cup. She was right. For all their success here, the further out monsters branched, the more challenges there were. There had been vandalism, refusal of services, and even attacks on them. Though the attacks were usually isolated events, or misunderstandings of frightened humans reacting poorly to an unusual monster, it was still a problem--one that frankly, Sans wasn’t sure how to fix.

“Give it time, Torry.” He suggested. “You said it yourself--Frisk has been leading a charge with the youngsters. Given time, they’ll changed hearts. Look what Frisk did for the underground.”

That brought some of the light back to her eyes. “You’re right. And besides, we didn’t come up from the underground just to get down about it.”

His own grin lifted. “That’s the spirit.” He rose, putting his cup onto the table. “And speaking of spirits, I’d best get going--Mettaton is doing a big show on TV, and Paps would be bonely without anybody to watch it with.”

Toriel agreed, admitting she was behind on grading papers. She walked him to the door and wished him a good night, leaving him to shortcut a block out from his home. The walk was brief, but it gave him time to study the night sky and think. There was something he hadn't wanted to say to Toreil--something he couldn't admit. If there were others who shared even an ounce of Frisk's determination, there could be another war--only this time, there wouldn't be any proficient human mages, or witches to seal them back below. The small grains of hope he'd been building up felt heavy and unrealistic right now. He tilted his head up again, allowing them to lift at the sight overhead. They had made it this far. Surely they could go farther.


	5. The High Priestess

  
  
  
“Sybella, dear, if you don’t stop all that frowning no boy is going to ask you out. Or girl for that matter.” Sybil looked up from her tea, blinking rapidly as her mind returned to the present.   
She was resting comfortably in the kitchen with her grandmother and her old friend, Ginger Mercer. Ginger, a fellow witch, made weekly visits to their home—had as long as Sybil could remember. And for as long as she could remember, their family had purchased most, if not all of their crystals and major witching supplies from Ginger’s shop, the Rosy Cauldron. Ginger was a kindly witch,who favored teas and incense to most any other magical tools, though what she seemed to love most was helping the younger or newer pagans and witches find their talents. She’d been the one to buy Sybil her first Pendulum, taking great delight when the girl had shown aptitude for divination. That had been Sybil’s one major talent in witchcraft, aside from general spellwork. Spirit work was a bit beyond her, although occasionally a plant spirit would wave to her. Kitchen witchery was a bit of a sore subject with her still—despite her mother and grandmother’s skill with it, Sybil had never really had the knack for it. And Sigils had never been something she could create on her own. They never seemed to come out right for her.  
“Oh leave her be, Ginger,” Gran reached over and tapped her friend’s shoulder. “Girls have twice as much to think about as we did. More about education, and jobs. Not to mention…” Her face darkened. “Monsters.”  
Ginger laughed aloud. “Monsters? You really think you need to worry about them?”  
“One’s joined up at my school,” Sybil spoke up. “He’s a professor.”  
“And?”   
“Don’t you know about the stories?” Sybil stared at her in shock. “About the hoard sealed below?”  
“Well of course I do,” Ginger rolled her eyes.   
“Then you ought to use your common sense!” Gran hissed. “Monsters were sealed up by human witches and mages, and their allies—took the power of children’s souls to help them escape it. You don’t think they may just hold a bit of a grudge against us?”  
“Clara!” Ginger cried. “Don’t you think that’s a bit of a generalization? They don’t seem to resent humans as a whole—why would witches be any different?”  
“Because if we decided that they were a threat, there’s always a chance we’ll try to seal them away again,” Sybil scowled over her cup. “And maybe even do a better job this time.”  
“Oh honestly,” The shopkeeper waved her hand dismissively. “That kind of power was long lost, and there aren’t enough witches talented enough, or in tune with the gods and the world to pull off such a feat.”  
“More reason to be careful.” Gran pointed out. “If they figure that out—”  
“They probably already have,” Ginger set her teacup down. “And wouldn’t bother with a couple of old women who mix a little pick-me-up into their tea and sell candles and crystals.”  
“Then what about the next generation?” Gran gestured sharply towards her granddaughter. “What about the kids Sybella’s age? They’re not settling into quiet lives, I can assure you—many are probably going to try and seek out ways to incorporate monster magic into their crafts!”  
“And any smart monster would tell them to buzz off and that they’ve no more business working with monster magic than their king does in a daycare.”   
Sybil shared a knowing look with her gran. Ginger was kind, but wrong. And even if she was correct about the majority…  
“And the ones who aren’t that smart?” Sybil asked, giving their family friend a hard stare. “What happens with them?”   
“I imagine they wouldn’t have a clue how to merge their energies.”  
The girl rose, shaking her head. “That’s assuming they lived through that request.” She picked up her cup, turning towards her room. “I’m going to finish a paper.”  
Sybil ignored the silence that followed her proclamation as she moved into her room. She pulled the door shut, looking to her desk. She really should get on that paper. But the sound of the resuming conversation caught her ear.  
Ginger heaved a long suffering sigh. “Honestly, Henry’s profession has made you both paranoid.”  
“Only of the mundane,” Sybil heard her Gran retort. “Iris…”  
“Oh, Clara,” Ginger’s tone turned gentle. “What she did was not your fault.”  
Sybil felt her gut twist. What she had done? How long ago was that?  
“It is,” Her Gran asserted. “I’m the one who taught her. If I had done a better job than she’d  be here now with us…With….” She trailed off regretfully.   
“Clara,” The witch murmured. “It really isn’t…You and Henry have done a wonderful job raising Sybella—you know that.”  
“She did turn out pretty good,” Gran chuckled sadly. “But I worry for her…For the world she has to live in…”  
Ginger let out a loud snort. “It isn’t as bad as all that.”

“No?” Gran’s voice turned icy. “Then I suppose Bella’s was just a fluke then?”

Sybil paused. Bella? Bella Meyers? She was a witch of the Wiccan breed--very involved in her coven--a group of three childhood friends--and the owner of Witch’s Brew. Sybil had often gone there to get her honey--good local stuff--along with the busy times in senior year of highschool when her celebrations of the sabbats, or wheel of the year holidays, had consisted of eating or drinking something festive. She didn’t know Bella well, but the woman kept a nice cafe, and the few times they’d met, Sybil had felt a sort of warmth from the older witch, and it had nothing to do with the extra cookie that got slipped into her order.

“You think Monsters are bombing stores?” Ginger snorted. “Oh Clara,  _ please _ . Something would have shown up on camera. And the police might be tight lipped, but there’s no way they’d keep that out of the media.”

Bombing? Sybils’ stomach turned. Surely not. Surely no one would hurt anyone half so nice. Besides, Bella was a kitchen witch--a master of food and putting magic into every bite for others. Why would they…

“She’s still missing, Ginger,” Her Gran’s voice was lower now, but insistent. “And no one can find her--not even her coven.”

There was a long pause, punctuated by Sybil’s heartbeat. Was this what the Tower had meant? Witches being attacked by monsters? This was like Gran’s stories all over again--and Sybil felt just as powerless as the heroes and  heroines had seemed. Except there wasn’t an instant solution. There wasn’t a happy ending rushing to make itself known and calm her fears. This was all too real.

“Have you asked Sybella?”

“I haven’t even told her. She used to go by Bella’s in high school.”

“If her coven can’t find anything, she might be the best bet…” Ginger mused. “And while we’re not popular with police, I think Neal’s in the running for chief, right? He’d have enough clout to get something done if Sybella finds something.”

“Ginger, your heart’s in the right place, but I don’t want to push Sybella into this. This is a police matter, not one for busy bodies with a touch of magic. Especially if I’m right.”

Sybil fought back her frustration. Her Gran was good about a lot of things; Not pushing for a curfew, the promise to always pick her up and not to lecture her until she was sober enough to remember it, and trusting her to make good choices. But this...this was typical of her Grandmother. Secrets. Stuff left unspoken. Painful words that had to stay locked up. And for what? What did they accomplish? 

“She’s an adult now,” Ginger pointed out gently. “And believe me, I know how hard this is for you, but you can’t keep her cooped up here under your wards, Clara.” 

Another long pause.

“You think I’m being silly, don’t you.” It was a statement--a pain filled one at that. “That I filled her head with cautionary tales to scare her out of being on campus.”

“No dear,” Ginger sighed. “But I do know you’re not good at letting go these days.”

“And why should I be?” Gran’s voice was bitter as black coffee. “First the baby, then Iris and Henry...Now I’m watching friends disappear, and you think I don’t have the  _ right  _ to be scared?”

“Clara…” the other witch trailed off helplessly. “She’s going to figure these things out herself someday...and if you don’t start being open and honest with her about these things, and let her make up her own mind, she’s going to resent you.”

There was another long sigh, followed by the rattle of a teacup.

“I’ve said too much.”

“No…” Gran’s tone had shifted into a distant whisper, barely audible to Sybil from behind her door. “You’re right...but I’m not ready…”

“It’s not about you being ready. It’s about her path.” There was a moment of hesitation. “You’ve raised a wonderful young witch. She’s learned a great deal from you. Now you need to trust her to take everything you’ve taught her and to create her own path.”

Gran said something more, but Sybil couldn’t hear her properly. Whatever it was, Ginger murmured her sympathies. Then, she gave her promises to check in next week.

“Make some of that spice cake, alright?” Ginger called, bringing a smile to Sybil’s face. “You and Holly are the only ones know who can make them.”

“It’s a promise,” Gran called back, sounding more like her sociable self.

Sybil left the door and went to sit with her altar, studying the peeling paint of her goddess figurine. She was tempted to ask for divine direction. That would be pointless though. Calling on Hecate right now might send out some echoes of power out to the wrong people...and Sybil already knew what she needed to do.

She took a deep breath, grabbing her tarot deck from its place on her desk. There was something comforting to having it on hand and so readily available to her. Though she kept a pendulum in her backpack and by her bed, the cards always felt best to her. With a few short shuffles, her question framed clearly in her mind as she ran the cards through the familiar motions.

_ Where is Bella Meyers? _

She stopped a moment later. Here. This felt right. Her heart raced, but her hands remained steady as she pulled the card and studied it. The 5 of Cups stared back up at her, the water running along the illustration from emptied cups. There were two upright, two twinkling golden chalices of hope among the despair. Perhaps...

Sybil’s hands swept the card up, her fingers tingling as she settled into her next thought. She could feel the extra drain on her as the meaning of her previous draw sunk in. Past the lump in her throat, and the sincere desire to stop the inquiry, she asked the daunting question, she wasn’t sure even had an answer.

“What are the upright cups an omen of?”

The lovers slipped out of the deck, the naked pair smiling up at Sybil, their hands grasped firmly to one another. She stared, dumbfounded. A partnership? Usually this card liked to pop out in reverse whenever she was asking about group projects, but for once, it was in its natural state, looking for all the world to be a sunny pair looking eagerly at this future.

Sybil shook her head, and swept it back into the deck. She gave a little thank you and returned it to the desk. So Bella was gone, but a partnership would arise from her tragedy. Couldn’t be her son--he was married already, and lived a good ways out. She remembered seeing pictures of him with his own little boy, beaming proudly at the camera. Maye his partnering with the police was the case. Somehow that didn’t feel quite right.

Sybil looked back to her altar. It was unchanged, and yet, the draw to it was undeniable. The pull to call out. The pull to go for broke and begin rituals beneath the full moon. Sybil turned her back to it, her shoulders squared.

“Not tonight, Hecate…” She murmured, turning to that paper she was supposed to be working on. “ We need to lay low for a while.”


	6. The High Priestess Reversed

  
  


“Hey Paps,” Sans called, stretching his limbs as he entered the little living room. Finding a house for the both of them had been a bit of challenge. Unlike Toriel, who had the good fortune of finding a home near the school and park, with a reasonable rent and landlord, most monsters had been forced to band together for accommodations. Several of the Bunny monsters, including Tops, had set up shop in an old motel that an inheritor was desperate to sell. They’d fixed it up nicely, with a good enough rate that it had filled up with other monsters. Around town it was known as the ‘monster motel’. The only downside to that, was every so often a group of humans would protest across the street, throwing eggs and hurling insults.

Sans was suddenly very glad that he’d gotten Toriel to co-sign for their lease. It was pricey--likely due to their non-human nature--but it was worth it. A quiet street that, while devoid of children, seemed to be devoid of overly nosey neighbors. They also didn’t have a grass height requirement like the neighborhood Alphys and Undyne had set up in.

“Ooh, you’re just in time, Brother!” Papyrus, blissfully unaware of the chaos surrounding monsterkind, came bounding out, balancing a plate of his homemade spaghetti in each hand. The sight of familiar food and his beaming brother, gave Sans a boost to his smile.

“Thanks, bro.” He took a plate gratefully, and moved to the couch. That had been a gem of a find as someone was selling it in a yard sale. Thirty dollars and a call to Papyrus and Undyne was all it had taken to get the floral monstrocity home. And despite the minor tears and that weird stain in the middle, it fit their home nicely enough.

“I can’t wait to see what Mettaton’s doing tonight!” The taller skeleton gushed, watching the commercial of humans carpooling. “What sort of act do you think he’ll do?”

“No clue, Bro,” Sans shrugged, taking up his fork, and twirling his pasta. “But I’ll Bot, it’s electrifying.” He winked at his sibling.

“Sans!” Papyrus snapped. “Really, do you have to do that?!”

“I’m pasta the point of return.”

“Sans!”

The scene on the television set changed. Both the brothers turned to see the ‘Breaking News’ banner run over the screen. A moment later the anchorman, Charles Dunwin, stared back at them looking grim.

 _“Breaking News, The body of missing Bella Meyers has been discovered along Highway 8. Maya Evans has the story._ ”

The screen changed, showing a dark highway, lit up by spotlights, and squad cars. Maya Evans stood just in front of crime scene tape, hand pressed to her ear, and looking as grim as her studio colleague. She looked up, pulling her mic closer as she delivered the news.

“ _Thank you, Charles. A family member has identified the body as that of Bella Meyers, the owner of Witches Brew Cafe. Police are not telling us how the body was found, or in what condition, but they have told us that the body was found shortly after 5 p.m. The police will be making a statement later at ten tonight, and We will keep you posted on any further information we get._ ”

The screen returned to Charles, who nodded soberly. “ _Thanks, Maya. And meanwhile, we urge you not to go down Highway 8 until the all clear from the police department has been issued. We now return you to your regularly scheduled program._ ”

Sans sighed. So much for hoping that he’d be able to stay out of it. Guess he’d have to call Alphys and Toriel tomorrow.

“Sans…” The mournful sound in his brother’s voice caused the smaller skeleton to turn sharply. Papyrus looked heartbroken as he stared at his dinner. “I knew that human...”

A fresh wave of horror hit Sans like a ton of bricks. What would the police think? Would they come after him, simply because he was a monster? But no one Sans had ever seen could hold anything against Papyrus. Paps was too darned lovable and amazing. But how terrible he must feel, losing a human connection…

“I’m sorry, bro…” Sans managed gently. “I didn’t know you knew her.”

The taller skeleton nodded somberly. “She let me hide in her shop when I was being chased by dogs. Then she made me tea, and we had a wonderful time…” Tears ran down his boney face. “Miss Bella was such a nice human!”

Sans could feel his own Soul ache in response to his brother’s grief. He reached over giving his brother a tight hug. Papyrus reciprocated with a crushing force. After a moment, Papyrus stood, picking up his plate and heading slowly towards the kitchen.

“Paps?” Sans stood, watching him go.

“I’m sorry, brother…” Papyrus shook his head. “But I don’t feel like watching television…” He looked somberly towards the kitchen. “I’ll just go clean up.”

Sans bit back his worry, watching his brother go to deal with his pain in his own domestic way, then turned back to the tv. He jabbed the power button on the remote with one hand, while he fished is cell phone out with the other. The dial only took a moment, and two rings later, Toriel had answered.

“Torry, did you see the report?” He grimaced as she told him both she and Frisk had. “Yeah...Paps knew her too…”

A gasp and condolences followed.

“Thanks. But I think you might have to ask your teacher friends after all...I’m going to see what I can’t dig out on my end. Could you tell Alphys for me?”

Once she’d agreed, he gave a small sigh of relief. “Thanks, Torry. And in the meantime, be careful. I doubt people are going to stay quiet about this for long…”


	7. The Empress

  
  


The living room was cramped beyond comfort--as was most of the family home. Sybil wanted nothing more than to flee to her room and shut them all out, but that would be rude. Instead she helped pass out boxes of tissues, and cups of tea, While Ginger brewed up fresh kettles, and her niece, Holly, lit up a stick of sage incense. No one objected to the smoke blowing over the room, instead, choking down tea, and choking back tears.

It seemed as if every witch in town had flocked to their home once the news had hit. The total number was somewhere near twenty or thirty--it was hard to tell with them all bustling about like unhappy hens, clucking about the tea, the news, the monsters, and what this meant for them. It still boggled Sybil’s mind to see them all gathered in one spot for any occasion outside of a sabbot celebration. Holly seemed just as bothered by the number, pulling the young witch to one side when she was able.

“They knew something was wrong…” Holly scowled. “Only Aunt Ginger thinks we’re being silly to think it had something to do with monsters.”

A shudder ran up Sybil’s spine. “Yeah...They’ve got a strong presence here in Ebbot.”

“And this is going to stir up trouble,” Holly shook their head. “And Aunt Ginger won’t listen to me about putting up a no monster sign on the shop.”

“Gran was trying to get her to take it more seriously.” Sybil added, looking over at the witches busily thrusting cups into witches hands, and pressing little comforts on the more vocally grief stricken.

Sarah Goodwin, one of the Wiccans from Bella’s coven sat stone still on the couch. Next to her, her coven mate, Helena Childs was blubbering every thought that came to her mind--a horrible repeat of ‘why Bella’, ‘should’ve done’ and ‘shouldn’t have’. Gran sat with them, murmuring gentle rebukes of ‘you couldn’t have known,’ to Helena’s broken record rantings.

“Poor thing…” Holly sighed. “She’s a wreck.”

“Aren’t we all?” A young male witch, Drake, commented wryly. Drake Johnson was a few years older than either of them at 24, with a command of elemental magic, that sparked envy in his peers. Even with her lack of energy sensing, Sybil had witnessed little elemental creatures pop up around him every so often, aiding him subtly, or teasing him loudly. The last time he’d been playing Poker during a Mabon celebration. Despite there being no money on the table, he was still winning nearly every hand, much to everyone’s annoyance. Sybil had seen the little water sprite skipping around the table to land delicately on his glass and give some advice. She hadn’t been the only one to notice--Amy Becks had seen it as well, and given him a sharp talking to about the whole ordeal. He’d admitted he was just trying to dress down his uncle--a rather irritatingly good player, and a braggart to boot, and the matter was dropped. To this day however, no one had played a round of cards with him.

“Well,” He amended, looking at Sybil. “Except you. You seem well collected.”

“Just what are you trying to say?” Holly bristled. “Not everyone falls to pieces in a crisis, Drake.”

“I didn’t say--”

“You three,” Ginger hissed, hurrying over to them. “Break it up, right now.” Her voice was low, but her tone was hard, sharp edged. Despite their adult age, all of them fell into an embarrassed hush. Holly galred silently at Drake, while Sybil shuffled uncomfortably. Drake, for his part, had the good sense not to look Holly in the eye.

“Holly,” Ginger growled. “Why don’t you go see to the tea, hmm?”

“Hey I didn’t--” They began to argue.

“Please, Holly.” The request was laced with the unspoken message; ‘We’ll talk about this later’.

Holly shot Drake another glare, before turning to rejoin the witches in the kitchen overseeing the tea. With them gone, Ginger turned her gaze to Drake. Her lips formed a dark line.

“I believe we some wards need tending--and you and your spirit friends are well suited to that, no?”

He took it for the order it was with a small nod, and headed to the door. The left Sybil alone with a surprisingly angry witch.She caught Sybil by the elbow and steered her towards her room. The sound was barely muted, but the air suddenly felt much cleaner. It could’ve been the fact that she’d already saged her room upon her return home. She wasn’t sure.

“Sybella,” Ginger turned to the girl, gripping her shoulders firmly. “What did you see?”

She blinked. “See?”

“I know you’re a top notch diviner,” The older witch stared at her. “And I know you’ve been nosey since you were five.” She smiled wryry. “In fact, I recall you correctly predicted a the change of Monsters coming to the surface.”

Sybil shivered. She hadn’t wanted to remember that reading--the haunting echoes of change and promises of chaos and loss of control, opposing forces, and rising danger. Had that reading been a warning of all this?

“What did you find about Bella?” Ginger pressed. “I need to know…”

Sybil took in a deep breath, steadying her racing heart. “I knew she was gone for good--not coming back. But there’s hope in her disappearance--a coming partnership. What kind I don’t know, but it’ll be a strong one, and bring in some hope to whatever happened to Bella.” She looked up at the older witch. “I tried to ask more about the people in the partnership, but the cards wouldn’t answer…”

Ginger stared at her in surprise. “They wouldn’t tell you?”

She knew Ginger didn’t mean anything by it. After all, most witches had times where their cards refused to talk to them--even their most trusted decks could tell them they didn’t want to talk. But this was Sybil’s one major talent--and it had failed her on a level she’d never known. It stung hard, and left her unsteady.

“Try again.” Ginger pressed. “Maybe Hecate will aid you.”

Sybil shook her head. “I already tried that. But everything comes out jumbled and nonsensical.” She reached over, snapping up the cards.

“A different question then?” Ginger suggested.

“I’m a witch, not a damned miracle worker!” She snarled. “Despite what you believe, I’m not an omnipotent seer!”

The older witch blinked in surprise. “I know that, Sybella--”

“And don’t call me that!” She hissed. “I hate that name!”

Ginger stepped back, golden eyes resembling the fullest moons Sybil could remember. Her lips trembled as she opened them, then shut them. She took in a shuddering breath.

“Then what do you want to be called?”

“Sybil.” She looked away guiltily. “That’s….my name. I know it is.”

“Then you know about your father?”

A sardonic smile slipped over the younger witch’s lips. “Well I know he didn’t just go out for cigarettes.” She shook her head. “And that’s really beside the point…”

“It is.” Ginger agreed softly. “But...that just bothers me all the more.” She gave her godchild a searching look. “You used divination for that?”

“Some. Some I found through digging.”

“All the more reason I’m worried.” Ginger decided. “If you can’t read them then either something is being shielded, or it’s an idea the cards can’t get across to you…”

“Like what?”

“Perhaps….” Ginger tapped her chin thoughtfully. “If I were to get a hold of some instruments--powerful divination tools the likes few of us have ever run across...Could you learn to read them?”

Sybil flashed her an amused smile. “I may not be much else in the way of a witch, but I’m no slouch in divination.”

“Alright.” Ginger nodded. “Once I get ahold of them, it’ll be up to you to learn them--mind you, not many can read them…”

“No harm in trying.” Sybil paused. “Ginger...about my name…”

“I won’t tell your Gran.”

“Thank you.” She could feel the tension seep from her body. “I don’t think I could handle that right now.”

“Neither do I.” Ginger agreed, frowning at the door. “Neither do I…”


	8. The Empress Reversed

  
  


“You want, what now?” Dean Hardin stared blankly at the skeletal professor.

Sans didn’t exactly blame him. This was out of character for him--anyone who knew him well would know at once that the Lazy bones was up to something. Although, with this particular request, they’d likely be as dumbfounded.

“To speak to anyone on campus who’s been affected by the death of Bella Meyers.” He reiterated. “She...was sort of a friend of my brother’s…I was hoping to see if anyone knew about any services they were offering and if he’d be welcome.”

“I see. It’s a tragedy…” Hardin nodded slowly. “I do have at least one young lady who keeps tabs on people fairly well--Ciara Chambers. She’d know if anyone was, or if anything’s being held for her.” He leveled Sans with a look. “And as far as I’m concerned, your brother is more than welcome to any event held on this campus. We’re trying to become inclusive--and if we can’t grieve together, then what’s the point of trying to be civil elsewhere?”

San’s smile softened into a legitimate expression of gratitude. “Thank you, Dean.”

“I should be thanking you for bringing it to my attention.” Hardin waved his hand. “I’ll try and find out when the funeral arrangements are, and offer a memorial service here on campus.” He smiled sadly.

“I’d still like to talk with Ciara about it. Pap wants to cook a bunch of spaghetti to take to the family.”

“Of course.” The dean nodded. “Your brother sounds like a wonderful person.”

“No bones about that.” Sans agreed.

Hardin winced. “Right….Well, I’ll send Miss Chambers your way. Have a good day,” He called, hurrying out before the skeleton could try for another pun.

A mere hour and a half later, a Ciara Chambers was sitting on the other side of his desk, looking him over with the fascination of a young human who had never been so close to a monster before. Sans was a little relieved to find that the blonde seemed in no way wary of him--merely curious.

“Thanks for coming over--I’m Sans. Sans the Skeleton.”He reached a hand out to shake, which she took without hesitation.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Ci--”

His grin widened as she jumped at the buzz against her hand, her dark eyes large. That never got old. And with the turnover rate at a school, Sans didn’t doubt he’d get good use from the joke.

“Heh. It’s a classic.” He winked.

She stared at him, eyes narrowing slightly. “A jokester, huh?”

“I do love a skele-pun.”

The look of interest shifted into a confused study of him. It reminded Sans a bit of Undyne when faced with a problem she couldn’t take on with brute force.

“You wanted to see me about something?” She asked, pushing past the enigma he seemed to present her with.

“Yep. Dean Hardin says you’re the person who knows most everyone on campus.”

She brightened. “That’s me. I’m nosey, pushy, and out to get a story.” She pulled up her cellphone. “Whodya need the goods on?”

“I was hoping you’d know some people in the Wiccan circles.”

Ciara’s smiled widened to grin that rivaled his own. “Not too many on campus, but I know one…” Her eyes held a catlike gleam to them as she tilted her head back, clearly waiting for him to take the bait.

“And who are they?” Sans ventured.

“First things first, professor,” She held her index finger up coyly. “I’m all for helping you out, but I need a favor in return--I give you a name, you give me a story.”

“Sure.” Sans shrugged.

Ciara beamed. “My roommate, Sybil Wildes. She had and altar and tarot card and everything.”

“ _Had?_ ” He tilted his head at the past tense.

“Just moved out,” She confirmed. “Supposedly her Gran got sick, but I’d bet my scholarship it was either her Grandma calling her home, or the stuff happening with the Meyers case. She seemed spooked as hell.”

“Oh yeah?” Sans asked in a nonchalant tone.

“Yeah!” Ciara nodded emphatically. “She was asking her tarot cards for advice on what to do, and I think the answer freaked her out. Which is ridiculous, they’re just cards.”

“Huh.”

“But I swear, she could be someone really cool. Once you get her out and having a good time, she’s a real sweetheart. I’ve got at least two guys in mind for her to date that she’d love! But that grandma of hers…” Ciara scowled. “I swear, the old bat was in her hair about everything. She’d text her everyday--and not to say ‘I love you’ or anything, but going on about how she should come home or some crap.” She looked at him. “Is that not messed up?”

“Sounds rough.” Sans agreed.

“I know! I finally get a roommate who’s clean, doesn’t make a ton of noise or complain, and her weirdest habit is having an altar, and then I lose her to her grandma.” Ciara sighed. “Now they’ll be giving me whoever can’t get along with their current roommate.”

“That’s a shame.” Sans kept his tone relaxed. “Don’t suppose you have her number, do you?”

The sophomore laughed, pulling out her phone. “Wouldn’t be much of journalism major if I didn’t have my own roommate’s contact. Here, I’ll put it into your phone.”

“Thanks,” Sans passed her his cell phone--an older used Model that Alphys had managed to get working again. Of course, that was a little side hobby she’d developed recently--fixing up old electronics for fellow Monsters, and keeping the extra bits to toy with. Despite working for Nasa, with a comfortable paycheck, old habits were still ingrained in her.

“So, about the story for the school paper,” Ciara said, tapping in the information, which Sans could see included several email accounts--likely the school one, and a personal one. “I’d like to use it for my personal portfolio as well.”

“Sure. As long as you don’t misquote me.” He shrugged. He sincerely doubted that she’d be satisfied with his answers, and it was best to nip that in the bud.

“Nah, I like my integrity,” She passed him back his phone. “Keeps things smooth for future interviews--and with as much of a fuss as you guys have been kicking up by existing, I think having some monster sources to rely on will come in handy in the next ten years or so.”

Shrewd. Sans wasn’t sure if he should concerned or impressed. Definitely better keep his answers careful and light. No sense in stirring trouble. He wished she’d interview with Toriel, or someone who was more political. Still, he knew how to blend in, so maybe it was for the best.

“I’ll send an official email request from the school paper to set up a time,” Ciara grinned as she got up.

“Sure thing.”

“Oh,” she paused. “And try to take it easy with Sybs...Like I said she’s, spooked.”

“I’ll try.” He grinned. “Bu there’s only so much a skeleton can do when it comes to spooky.”

The sophomore grinned. “Point taken,” She waved and headed out the door, calling back a thanks as she went.

Sans studied the phone, considering how he was going to word this. Ciara had given him plenty to work with, but if she was as upset as her roommate suggested, then he’d have to use a ruse to get her to speak with him. Well...A skeleton had to do what a skeleton had to do.


	9. The Emperor

  
  
  


Sybil grumbled as she trotted up the stairs of the admin building. She would end up getting some new advisor while her’s was out sick. Typical. So here she was climbing up to the third floor to argue some more about how she had to drop out, and hopefully get her papers signed. Gods this day had already started out bad enough.

She paused, recalling her Gran’s warnings. She’d been particularly dour, scrubbing down the kitchen to cleanse the grief and fear from the tiles. She’d actually looked her age, her eyes dull and listless. It was too similar to the look she’d had when her grandfather had died--too haunting. 

Sybil picked up her pace, making it to the third floor, trying to reclaim her breath. Once things were cleared up, she would have to look into doing more exercise. Being this out of shape was ridiculous. She found the office with little trouble, and knocked.

“Come in,” That same deep voice from the phone called. She had to give him credit--he sounded a lot like one of the radio hosts to the jazz channels her mother had loved so much. It was almost nostalgic, listening to the professor talk. 

She followed the invitation, popping into the little space. It was small, but relatively cozy, all things considered. Well, he was a science professor, so his research was probably stored at his lab, unlike the crammed miniature libraries the psychology Professor--Professor Smith--had. The desk was plain, with only a computer and some of her files sitting out on it. Only one picture framed the wall--a small image of a large group of monsters beaming at the camera, with a small child in striped sweater smiling largest of all. 

That image bothered her. On the one hand, it was brimming with the very monsters that hated her. Two large goat-like beings, clothed in official garb, while a robot struck a sexy pose on the ground. There were blue rabbits, a tired looking cat, a dinosaur with glasses, next to a fish like woman, who bore her too sharp teeth in a cry of triumph, a pair of grinning skeletons, what looked like a ghost and several large snails. Yet, the energy that it gave off was joyous. It looked like just what the news casters would call it--a glorious assent to freedom for monster kind. And the little child responsible stood among them all, looking for all the world like a happy kid, not all that different from herself when she was that age. 

The image should scare her. But it didn’t. Rather, she felt something stronger rising within her...an old feeling of--

“Sybil, right?”

She turned, and found herself face to face with a grinning skeleton. It was surreal, seeing the monsters she had been afraid of as a child, turned into a waking nightmare in her lifetime smiling at her, a hand out to shake. For a moment she could feel the energy rolling off him in waves--a strange and complex mixture. Fear, anxiety, resignation, exhaustion, all hinging on a small pin of hope to hold it all together. Then the moment was broken, and she returned to her senses. 

“A-are you Professor Sans?” She asked, trying to hide her fear. Surely this wasn’t the monster out witch hunting. Surely she wasn’t next. If so, she was going to throw the whole desk at him given the chance--it wasn’t that sturdy--and the picture frame could be shattered to created shard of glass she could stab him with--wait. He didn’t  _ have  _ flesh. He was a  _ skeleton _ .

“Yup. Nice to meet you,” He shoved his hand into his blue jacket pocket. “Have a seat,” He gestured to the chair.

That was the  _ last _ thing she wanted to do. But she also didn’t want him to realize that. Maybe he didn’t know she was a witch. Maybe this had been bad luck.

“I’ll stand, if it’s all the same to you,” She bit her lip. “Been sitting around twiddling my thumbs all week.”

He shrugged. “No skin off my back.”

Had he just--no, now was not the time to be distracted. She had to get out of this office alive. Whatever else, she didn’t have time to focus on puns.

“Right, so papers?” She pressed. 

“Got `em here,” He tapped the files, plopping lazily into his chair. “Most of its formality stuff, but human government likes it’s paperwork, I’m told.”

“Yeah,” She forced a smile as she took the file and a pen. “Typical.”

She didn’t even read the papers as she bent over to sign them. Gods, why were there so many? Surely there shouldn’t be that much for dropping out of school.

“So I hear you’re a wiccan.” 

Sybil leapt back, pen up. Maybe he didn’t have flesh, but surely those glowing eyes would hurt if she jammed a .5 ink pen into his socket.

“Whoa, whoa,” He held his hands up. “Easy…”

“Absolutely no way I’m taking anything  _ easy _ ,” She hissed. “I may be a witch, but that doesn’t give you any right to come after me!”

He grimaced. “I’m not after you--if anything, I’m hoping to get your help.”

“I don’t do magic for monsters.” She spat. Part of her hated how it sounded. If it had been another human people group--but it wasn’t. It was a skeleton. And Bella Meyers was dead.

“Not like that,” He sighed. “You see...I want to know if you guys have any enemies.”

“Monsters.” Sybil stated, fighting the bile in her throat. “And certain religions that wanted to destroy other religions, because doing so gave them power over people--but traditionally, monsters.” Why was she even talking to him? Why wasn’t she running?

“Okay…” The skeleton nodded slowly. “That’s fair. I kinda figured we’d be getting the blame...just not this soon…”

“I don’t even know why you’re doing this to us!” Sybil cried, her hands shaking. “We don’t have the magic that those who sealed you away did. We’re just lucky to be able to get hints about weather and bad luck!”

He nodded. “I know that.”

“That’s all well in good, but what about others,  _ hmm _ ? Your king tried to use human souls--what could one of you do with a magic laced soul?”

“A lot of damage.” He admitted. He looked almost sad, his gaze turning to the photo on the wall. “And I’d like to catch this person before people panic, like you.”

Sybil laughed hoarsely. “Good for you. You do that.  _ Without  _ me.  _ Thanks _ .” Slowly, she backed toward the door, her eyes never straying from the skeleton.

He heaved a long suffering sigh. “You know, we could just talk this out…”

“No!” She barked. Why was she even still here? Why was she standing instead of running for her life? Had he enchanted his office? No--she’d have noticed that. Then what in hades was wrong with  _ her _ ? She gripped the pen even harder.

“How the hell did you even find out about me?!” That must be it. Her instincts were working faster than her brain.

“Your roommate.”

“Leave Cici out of this!” Sybil snarled. “Leave me out of it--just stay away from all of us!”

“Tibia honest, I wish I could,” The skeleton shrugged. “Having a bunch of magical humans close to my friends isn’t my idea of a good time.” His smile seemed genuine. The waves of energy resurfaced--that hope beating painfully clear to her raw senses.

“But I’d rather that than a world where we’re killing one another out of fear,” He continued. “Gotta start somewhere.” He reached his hand out again, his pinprick eyes meeting hers. “Whadya say?”

Sybil could feel her own hand rising. He’d been reasonably honest. He’d tolerated her disdain and terror with only mild irritation. And those rolling waves of energy and emotion...Surely that meant something. Something real. She stopped, biting her lip. The image of her grandmother on her knees scrubbing the floor, and wiping aside tears hit her hard. 

“I...Can’t…” She trembled, her hand halfway to his.

“‘Course you can.”

Sybil shook her head.  _ Trust him! _ A voice screamed in her mind.

“Come on,” His smile faded a hair. 

“N….”  _ Trust Him! Trust Him! Trust Him! _

“Sybella?” 

Her eyes snapped up. Rage surged at that name. She shut out the pressure to accept his hand--that voice that urged her forward. Despite her Gran’s warnings against magic outside their home, she reached for the untapped power within herself. She pulled her hand back, visualizing the building energy spiralling towards her arm. With a shriek of fury, she swiped back out at him, hurling energy at him. She was expecting it to be a simple curse, at most it would be a tough curse--one she’d feel the after effects and backlash of if she didn’t go home and set up her protections quickly. 

The visible wave of energy that slammed into the wall proved to be anything but simple. The force of its power shocked her as it backlashed, shattering the glass of the picture frame. The skeleton however, wasn’t in the least hurt for the sudden attack. His left eye, however, glowed a menacing icy blue. He’d managed to dodge it by some miracle of magic.

The realization of what had just happened hit Sybil like a freight train. She attacked a monster--with  _ magic _ . The stories of monsters killing foolish witches, and eating them returned to her mind. And looking at him, she didn’t doubt he was thinking of the magic that had locked him and his friends below Mt. Ebbot.

Sybil turned and ran for her life.


	10. The Emperor Reversed

The meeting held at Toriel’s house wasn’t a happy one. Despite the clear glee Frisk showed upon seeing their monster friends, they quickly caught the mood in the air. Sans felt bad about that. The kid didn’t deserve this mess. Despite knowing something was afoot, Frisk took Papyrus out for a training session set up by Undyne while the rest gathered to discuss the encounter.  
“She blasted you?” Undyne whistled past a mouthful of Tory’s pie. “I didn’t think they could do that.”  
“They sh-shouldn’t be able to,” Alphys agreed. “All m-my research into m-modern witches shows a lack of serious m-magical power,” She shuddered. “That’s w-way more powerful than anything any human sh-should be able to d-do…”  
“She was probably frightened,” Toriel sighed. “We’ll be lucky to get another witch to talk with us.”  
Sans fought a wince. She was right. And he’d been the one there. Though, as he wracked his skull for the moment where he’d lost the conversation, he wasn’t really sure where he’d lost her. Sybella had seemed nearly ready to try--her hand halfway to his own. Something personal then--judging by the shift.  
He sighed and heaved a shrug. “It was a risk I had to take--its easier to talk to younger humans about these things.”  
“True…” Toriel smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Perhaps…” She stopped herself, shaking her head. “Well, it doesn’t matter now. Right now we should focus on what our next step should be.”  
“I have the go ahead fr-from-from my supervisor to set up a seperate lab st-station.” Alphys looked to Sans. “W-w-we could use it to w-work on a m-magic barrier.”  
“Sounds like a plan,” Sans agreed. “I’ve still got to give lectures at school, but I can come by after work…” He sighed. “Man...I’m going to miss being a Lazy Bones…”  
“It’ll be good for ya.” Undyne grinned. “With Papyrus training hard to become a police officer, it’s about time you caught up to him.”  
“Yeah…” Sans had to fight that sinking feeling. If they didn’t get this resolved then monsters would be back under fire--and the likelihood of Papyrus ever being able to achieve his dream would be one to Graham's number.  
“I’ll make sure to make you some food to take with you,” Toriel added. “You’re going to need all the strength you can get.”  
“Just look after yourself, Torry,” Sans warned. “You’re in the public more than the rest of us.”  
“H-he’s got a p-point.” Alphys agreed. “Sh-shouldn’t you t-t-take a break until e-everything’s over?”  
“Nonsense.” She smiled. “I love my work. And my taking a break would only look bad. Besides…” Her eyes flicked to the window.  
Outside Papyrus was cheering for Frisk as they hurried through the obstacle course Undyne had prepared for them. Alphys nodded, understanding the implication.  
Undyne heaved a long suffering sigh. “Fine. But you better keep yourself safe, okay?”  
“I’ll be careful.” She promised.  
“Well,” Sans rose, popping his neck as he stood. “We should probably get going. I’ll have to get those papers graded tonight if we’re going to be getting any work done tomorrow.”  
“I’ll m-make s-s-sure the lab’s s-set up.” Alphys agreed.  
“Guess I’ll start stocking up on Soda and ramen.” Undyne frowned. “And me and Pap’ll have to start making extra spaghetti for you two.”  
Toriel smiled sadly. “Keep in touch, all of you.”  
“O-of course!” Alphys promised.  
“You got it.” Sans agreed.  
They shuffled their way outside to see Frisk trying to untangle Papyrus from the rope wall. Undyne jogged over to cheer them through the process. Alphys chuckled.  
“S-some things n-never change…”  
“No… they don’t,” Sans agreed quietly. “Hey, Alphys. I need you and Undyne to do me a favor--one just between the three of us.”  
She turned, adjusting her glasses nervously. “N-not even T-Toriel?”  
“Especially not Torry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. College and work can really kill extra productivity. Hopefully the next update won't take quite so long.


End file.
